


Being a Squib

by Lorien Starlight (InfiniteWorlds)



Series: Squib Series [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Squibs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-30 18:13:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1021832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfiniteWorlds/pseuds/Lorien%20Starlight





	1. Being a Squib

Being a squib, you stop expecting things. For example, you stop expecting a letter from Hogwarts where they explain it was all a terrible mistake. You stop expecting that one day you might do just a tiny bit of magic. You stop expecting to be able to brew potions (though they do work for you if you can save up enough money to buy them). And you stop expecting people to notice you’re there. When you're a squib, for the first 10 years of your life you don't know it. It's not until you're 11 that things change. You're rejected - either subconsciously or outright - by your entire world. And on top of that, you can't do magic.

So, you really only have a couple of choices. You can try to forget the magical world (obliviate works well for this, if you can find someone you trust enough to cast it). You can live as a muggle for the rest of your life and never know anything more. Or, if you can't give it up completely, you can live on the edges of the magical world, always being a second class citizen for one more taste of the magic you never had.

We can still use potions, and magical artifacts. My great uncle once gave me a mokeskin bag, before he knew. Or maybe he didn't care the way the rest of them did. It's my prize possession. I can put everything I own in that bag, and no one can get it but me.

When you're a squib, you have to be ready to move on at a moment's notice, never sure when you'll be made into a target. Most wizards and witches just pity you, but some think you're "as bad as a mudblood," and you can't let them catch you when they're thinking that way. But, usually, I get along just fine.

I live in a mixed neighbourhood of muggles and magics near enough my uncle's shop that I can walk there. I work part time there, stocking potions and magical ingredients the muggle way. My uncle's very old (he's my great uncle, really), and he needs the help & company, and he really doesn't seem to mind my lack of magic much.

He says I remind him of his sister, who passed away some time ago. But she was a metamorphmagus, back when there were more of them around. She always had her hair a bright teal green. One day I got some muggle dye and walked in with her favourite hairstyle. My uncle laughed with a brightness in his eye I hadn't seen in ages. He said I looked just like her, and he pulled out an old photograph of her making faces, a bright teal flame of hair on her head that looked like it belonged on the top of a candlestick.

My uncle taught me history of magic and magical theory just because he could. He said I should know as much about the world as I possibly can, even if nothing comes of it. Sometimes he gives me potions when they don't sell or if he had the extra ingredients to make them. Usually, they're just little things to put a spark of magic in my life, but once, for my birthday the year I came of age, he gave me Felix Felicis.

The luck potion is not given out lightly, and I was speechless. I admired the beautiful gold colour within the small vial as if it were priceless - and for me, it was. I gingerly handed the vial back; just seeing it was more gift than I could ever expect, and never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that potion was for me. Oh, but it was! I felt I could hardly breathe.

My flat is just above a muggle bookshop that I've developed a fondness for. I don't think magics realize just how perceptive muggles really are. This bookshop's full of stories about magic. They call it fantasy, but knowing magical history, I can see where the stories come from. They're not entirely accurate, but considering that the whole magical world is supposed to be a secret, they know a lot more than they should have.

And then there are the histories of Harry Potter. Magical histories released to muggles as fiction! I was very surprised that the Wizengamot didn't burst down Rowling's door. But my uncle says the muggles need to know what happened, even if they don't believe.

So I work mornings at my uncle's potions shop and spend my afternoons working in the bookshop. On pay day I buy a book and go to a tea shop down the road where they have wonderful flavours and fragrances wafting about, and I dream. Mostly I dream of magic, and what I could have been.


	2. A Day in the Life of a Squib

I suppose in my last entry I forgot to tell you my name. Not that it matters, really; I don't expect anyone else to read it. But for posterity's sake, I'll introduce myself. My name is Clarity Meadowes, but most people just call me Clare.

I have one brother and two sisters. Benet is in Hufflepuff and is head boy this year. Cecily is a Slytherin, as you'd expect if you knew her, and Celia is in Ravenclaw. I'm so proud of her! I'd have liked to be in Ravenclaw. I suppose I should've been the Gryffindor to round out the family, but that's neither here nor there.

This morning I walked to the potions shop, and it was brisk, so I threw on a muggle jacket I'd worn at the bookstore the other day to keep out the cold. That's how I ended up with my name tag on.

I don't wear a name tag at my uncle's shop because the wizards aren't supposed to see me, but that day I'd been in a hurry because I was running late. And because I was running late, there was already a wizard in the shop when I got there.

Clumsily, I knocked over some ancient spell scrolls in my rush to get to the back, but I had to stop and get them because they could be very valuable. And it was just my luck that I bumped into the wizard behind me.

I suppose my bad luck is the reason my uncle gave me the Felix Felicis, but I couldn't very well waste in on a regular day. Wistfully, I thought of saving it for my wedding day - the one day I'd most want it where I wouldn't be breaking any laws using it. But, being single and somewhat shy, I really don't know when that day will come. So it's in my mokeskin bag, waiting.

I thought about taking a sip to meet the love of my life. But somehow, that seems like cheating. So I keep going to the tea shop and the book store hoping to meet a nice muggle boy who won't care that I can't do magic.

I'm not that attentive. It's one of my greatest flaws. I get so absorbed in whatever it is I'm doing that I sort of zone out and forget where I am and I just don't notice what's going on around me. Usually that works to my advantage, because it means people don't notice me either, but today it was a nightmare.

I was so startled from bumping into that wizard that I stared at him as if he were a ghost. I've seen ghosts before, but they're really not all that common, and they're usually unnerving. As I was gaping like a fool, he started talking to me. A *wizard*, talking to *me.* Wizards don't talk to me, except for my uncle and Benet. But this one started *talking* to me.

I'm sorry, but I freaked. I ran away to the back quick as I could. I was going to be in *so* much trouble. First, I was late. Second, I might have damaged those scrolls, and I had to find out it they were important. Third, and worst, I'd been seen by a customer.

I should explain. My uncle *really* wouldn't mind; he doesn't treat me like a second-class citizen. But the shop's in Knockturn Alley. For someone like me, that's dangerous. It's one thing to be seen walking to the shop - lots of customers do that. It'd be quite another for the blood purists to discover a squib working there. They think I'm no better than a muggle, and while *I* think there's nothing wrong with muggles, they don't share the same opinion.

So this is the first time I've been seen there, working, by a wizard other than my uncle. Judging by the Slytherin scarf he was wearing, that boy might be a blood purist - they don't call themselves Death Eaters anymore. What's worse, he doesn't know me, but he called out my name. Clarity. It rang out clearly through the shop. I don't know what to do.


	3. The Shop in Knockturn Alley

Theodore Nott strolled down the streets of Knockturn Alley with the comfort of a Slytherin accustomed to its secrets. The son of a death-eater, he was taken for granted here, though he hadn't come this way often in the past. With Voldemort defeated, many of its regulars were gone, but some were still around, having escaped the brunt of the damage from Voldemort's defeat. Those who were here were wary, though, and some were selling. Nott had recently come into a rather large inheritance, with his father now gone, and he strolled here with the singular purpose of choosing the best way to spend it.

He was bored, but then, he was often bored. The politics of the wizarding world had never interested him; he had more of a laissez-faire attitude than most wizards. He was content to let those who would assume he was on the dark lord's side, but he never actually said or did anything to confirm or deny that suspicion. He had been too young to recruit, and so no one realized he had never had any intention of becoming Voldemort's lackey, like his father. And then the war ended, and he'd never had to make that choice, or be clear about what choice he had made. He was his own man, in both mind and body now. He was of age, and wealthy, and self-assured, and no one could tell him how to live his life. He was at peace. But it was a dull and dreary sort of peace.

Lost in his thoughts, he came upon a small shop lighted by a dim candle in a corner little-travelled. No one was around. Looking in, he decided to step inside and check out what they had on offer. There were potions in coloured glass bottles corked and labeled in a spidery script. Most looked as if they had never been used. There were various powders in packets and boxes covered in dust. There were crystals in the corner, but to Nott they looked as if they served no purpose. He had never had any use for crystals in real magic. To his knowledge, they were only used in divination and muggle imitations of fortune-telling. But these were irregularly shaped, and the colors were dim and faint but there.

So involved was he in looking around at his strange surroundings that Nott failed to realize he was slowly backing toward someone until it was too late. When he did realize it, there was a loud crash and a soft squeak of terror as a box overloaded with scrolls and parchment tumbled to the dusty floor, taking the two of them with it. When Nott looked up, he beheld the slightly freckled face of a mousy-brown haired seventeen-year-old girl. He didn't recognize her, and this puzzled him. He thought he knew every witch his age in England. They had all attended Hogwarts, hadn't they?

"I'm sorry. Let me help you get that. I didn't mean to startle you." He said, politely, looking her up and down. They picked up the scrolls in silence for a moment before the silence became uncomfortable. Blushing a bit when he realized she'd seen him checking her out, he continued, "I'm afraid I don't know your name."

No sooner had he said this than she shifted the box covering her chest and her name tag came into view. In a fairly legible script it said, "Clarity." The appropriateness of this struck him, and he read it aloud. She looked at him, finally, but her face held no expression he could fathom.

"It's Clare," she said, "Not that anyone seems to notice." Then she looked away, and it was as if she'd never spoken. Looking down, she straightened the scrolls in their box, and stood.

After a moment, Nott said, "You sound a bit like Granger."

She quirked an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

"Not that there's anything wrong with that," he continued, thinking he might have offended her in some way. "It's just that for a moment I thought you weren't going to say anything at all, and then when you did it all came out at once."

"I'm not supposed to talk to the customers," she said brusquely, suddenly seeming to remember this, and started to walk briskly away.

Nott realized he was following her and stopped walking just as she was about to enter the back room.

"But, why?" He said to the empty air. "Clarity!"

A few moments later, the shopkeeper came out from the back room. He was an old man of indeterminate age, at least as far as Nott was concerned, and he didn't seem in the best of health. Nott wondered why he kept the shop, considering it seemed so little-used.

"You'll have to excuse my grand-niece. She's not used to dealing with customers. What can I help you with?"

Nott's friendly demeanor vanished and was replaced with the usual guarded expression he used when dealing with people he didn't know. He briefly wondered why he'd dropped his guard in the first place, but pushed the thought aside for the moment in favor of more important things.

"I've never been in your shop before, and I wondered what you sell here." His tone indicated idle curiosity, though his question was a bit forward considering the shop's location. Still, sometimes that was the right way to get information, and he was tired of playing Slytherin games. He had nothing to fear from either side of the war. The war was over, and he wanted to move on.


	4. In the Shop on Knockturn Alley

Choosing his words carefully, Nott inquired about the shop and the mysterious shopkeeper's assistant. Though it was true he'd never been here before, he'd also never seen the girl before, and that was rare in Wizarding England. All the magical families knew one another, at least those whose blood was pure....

But then, could she be a muggle-born? Unlikely. This was Knockturn Alley, and though the war was over, he didn't think it likely that a muggle-born would be hired here or would even come here seeking a job. And this shop was old - the shopkeeper was old, and he must belong to an old family.

"What's your surname?" He asked, unthinking.

"Well, you're very pert." The man replied, uselessly.

"Sorry." He blushed. Why was he blushing? What call had he to be embarrassed? He was the heir who carried the name of one of the oldest wizarding families in London! Shaking off his nerves, he asked,

"That girl. Who is she?"

"You seemed to know her name well enough," said the old man, smiling. It seemed to be more a smile of mirth than friendship.

"Well, yes, she had on a name tag, but I've never seen her before."

"Well, you've never been here before, have you?"

"Well, no. But that's not the point. Wasn't she at Hogwarts?"

"Did you see her there?"

"No. That's why I'm wondering who she is!"

His frustration was leaking into his voice. He had to get out of here before he lost his control. He didn't need a rumor mill, and he didn't survive Slytherin by having people talk about him, either.

"What's her surname?" He asked, calmer and more dignified.

"Meadowes." The old man replied at last, looking him up and down. "Though you didn't know her at Hogwarts, and her sisters are too young to have attracted your attention. You might know Benet Meadowes, but then, you might not. He's a year or two younger than you, and he's in a different house," he said, observing Nott's scarf. "But don't cross him. Benet will have your head if you hurt someone he loves, as would I."

Nott had to admit, the old man was scary, and he knew how to threaten a person without seeming to. All the same, he had what he wanted. Forgotten were the myriad of purchases he'd imagined. They no longer seemed to matter. He wanted that girl. Clarity.

Preoccupied, Nott left, and the old man smiled.

"Smitten," he said to himself, and walked away.


	5. Meadowes

Meadowes. The only mention of the name he could find in all of wizarding history was a Dorcas Meadowes killed by Voldemort and a Matilda Meadowes who worked in the Department of Mysteries until she disappeared in 1943. But the name was there, in the records of Hogwarts students going back generations. He had to give kudos to the Meadowes family for being so invisible up to now.

He thought that was his game, but he realized now that he wasn't the only player, nor had he been for all the time he'd been playing. He guessed they were trying to stay under the radar because of the wizarding wars, and that those above the radar - like Dorcas and Matilda - paid the price. He understood perfectly.

It was his good fortune to be born a pureblood wizard, and his great talent to escape everyone's notice despite that fact. His height didn't help, of course - he was very tall. Lanky. But he had a calming demeanor that helped everyone relax. It was something that had come from his mother's side of the family. People only noticed him when he made snide remarks - which were fun and met with approval from the Slytherins around him. Otherwise, he was mostly ignored, and only a very few people ever knew him well. When they found out his secrets, he cast obliviate. He was very good at silent casting.

Recent students at Hogwarts included Benet Meadowes, 7th year Hufflepuff, Cecily Meadowes, 5th year Slytherin, and Celia Meadowes, 1st year Ravenclaw. He thanked Merlin for the mandatory student record keeping and the laws that made these records publicly accessible. But there was no Clarity.

Birth records. Nott looked these up at St. Mungo's. Benet and Clarity were fraternal twins, but while Benet was a wizard, Clarity was...a Squib!

A squib in Knockturn Alley? He supposed it made sense if it wasn't known. Knockturn Alley had always been a place of hiding. People didn't ask too many questions. He was the exception, and that was a recent development. People could chalk it up to interest in a purchase. The shop! He could buy the shop off the old man. Of course! The man couldn't possibly last there much longer, and Nott could offer him a hefty sum to retire on. He could even offer job security for the girl. No one need know that she was a squib.

But a squib? He thought for a while, playing with the idea in his mind. No competition like he faced with other purebloods. He had no interest in the half-bloods and the muggle-borns he knew, except for Granger, but she'd taken up first with Krum and then with Weasley. No need to disturb the statute of secrecy for a squib. And no commotion like if he took up with a muggle - her family was respectable, after all, and squibs can continue a magical line in they have a magical spouse. And she could cater to his tastes, which was the most important part. Eventually he asked himself, well, why not?


	6. From the Journal of Clarity Meadowes

Okay, so maybe I didn't run away as quickly as I should have, and maybe I did say too much, but really. What would you have done?

He was a boy! And oh so glorious a boy! His dark hair was slightly curly, like dark chocolate falling nearly into his eyes, which were hazel. He had a long nose that looked like it had been broken a time or two, but it wasn't the worse for wear, and I think it adds character to his features.

He was tall, and somewhat lanky, but I always liked that in a man. I'm tall for a girl, and I don't like standing out. But with him I would! Oh, but I'm making myself sound silly. Firstly, he's a wizard, and a wizard would have no interest in a squib like me. But a girl can dream, right? Maybe I'll find a nice muggle boy who looks kind of like him one day...

But hopefully, nothing will come of it. Uncle Clarence didn't say anything, and it looks like I didn't do any damage to those scrolls after all. I'm going to the bookshop this afternoon to work, and then after that to the tea shop that smells so nice - hopefully with a new book.

I found a book in the shop in a section I probably shouldn't have been in, but it looked so promising I couldn't pass it up. It's just a bit more mature than what I'm used to, but I am of age, and I couldn't think of any reason why I *shouldn't* read it.

Details to follow.

-C.M.


	7. Inquiry

Nott went to the shop in Knockturn Alley, this time looking carefully for a name. There was none. No wonder it didn't do much business. That explained how it stayed under the radar, anyway. On an ornate sign to the left of the door was carved a potion and a scroll. The sign was obviously very old.

He went in, but there was no one visible. He wasn't really expecting to talk to anyone just yet, anyway, so he just started browsing. There were some very old spell scrolls which needed translating, and some rare and valuable potions ingredients that could be used for some potent potions.

He thought about the book he'd checked out from the restricted section in 7th year. *Moste Potente Potions*. These ingredients wouldn't be used for common potions, but for someone with his skill, they could come in handy. They looked old, too, like people hadn't bought them because they'd forgotten what they were used for.

He walked around, looking at the various vials and powders. He decided he might just buy some of this stuff just to see what it was used for. The scrolls might be interesting, too, if he could translate them.

Then he remembered why he'd come. He wanted to put in an offer on the shop, but he wasn't sure how to broach the subject. One thing his father had never taught him was etiquette, and his mother had died young. He'd had to learn it on his own, so often his companion was silence. Silence was wary, and it did not tell secrets.

He was pulled from his thoughts when the old man made his appearance.

"Hello" was all he could think to say.

"I thought I'd see you again. Done your research?" He asked, grinning.

Nott Nodded.

"Good."

There was an awkward silence as Nott tried to figure out what to say. He suddenly felt small.

Eventually, the old man continued, "Then you know she's not a witch. Almost was, but wasn't."

"I know." He said quietly.

"Still want to see her?"

He nodded again, embarrassed but unable to hide it. How did this old man break his cool like that?

"Sure?"

This time Nott spoke. "I do."

The old man studied him for a moment, and Nott was unsure how to proceed.

"What's your name, son?"

"Theo- Theodore Nott." He winced; Nott never stuttered, and he'd better not start now. Luckily, the man seemed to like 'Theo.'

"Well, Theo, you're not like your father are you?"

Nott registered surprise, but was so surprised himself that it didn't matter. It looked like his plan didn't need to come to fruition after all. The man was going to do the work for him.

"I'm not."

"You're not." The old man repeated, looking him in the face. "So you don't care she can't do magic?"

"I can do all the magic I need." He replied, wondering why he'd said it.

"So you can." The old man nodded. "Well I suppose you should get going if you want to catch her. Tea shop. Down the road that way, past the book store. She'll be reading." He said, pointing vaguely off toward the muggle side of town.

Nott nearly jumped out of his skin in his rush to catch her. He had no idea what he was expecting, but he didn't want to miss it. This was the only exciting thing in his life these days, and he had to chase it down, if only for the rush.

He caught the scent of lavender and eucalyptus, and smiled.


	8. The Tea Shop

She was there, sitting alone at a table, sipping tea and reading. This was the first time he'd seen her in the full light of day. In the dim lighting of the old shop, her hair had looked a mousy brown, but in the bright sunlight, he could see the tones of copper and bronze that shone in it. She was beautiful. Her hair was falling down the side of her face, hiding her expression. He wanted to see what she was reading, but the book was laid open, flat on the table, and he couldn't see the cover. Not wanting to disturb her, he tried to look over her shoulder, and his shadow fell over the book's page.

She looked up to see what was blocking the sunlight, and took a breath.

"Hi." He said, sheepishly.

"Hello" was her quiet response. "What are you doing here?"

"I came here to find you. Your uncle..." he trailed off at her stare.

"Why were you looking for me?"

"I thought we could have tea."

"Well, sit down."

In the brief silence that followed, Nott tried to think of what to say. He didn't think it would be this easy. Usually, he needed plots and strategies to get what he wanted, but this time the girl had metaphorically fallen into his lap, and he didn't really know how to proceed. Having conversations with people was not his forte.

He'd had girlfriends before, but they were from his world. They were all a part of one big wizard's chess game, and no one knew entirely who was controlling the pieces - Nott just took advantage whenever he saw an opening, and otherwise just observed as everything fell into place. After Draco and Pansy had broken up, Pansy hadn't been content to be single, and for a girl like that, no one else would do. Blaise wouldn't have her, and Nott had been the only other decent looking Slytherin in their year. She was nice looking when she wasn't sneering, so they'd dallied for a while.

Briefly before that, he'd taken up with Romilda Vane, but she'd lived up to her name. She was younger than he was, but she knew how to get what she wanted, and she knew how to keep secrets. Nott didn't much care about anything else at that time, so he'd gone along with it when she'd asked him out. It was only when he discovered he was the rebound boy to make Harry Potter jealous after that rejection that he ended it, and he wasn't sorry.

This time, though, Nott was at a loss. Things were too straightforward, and it felt strange. He didn't know how to handle it. His father had taught him how to navigate a world of conniving wizards, but never had he had a chance for pleasant conversation that didn't have undertones of cynicism and deceit.

Finally, a server came and he ordered croissants and some tea. Then he asked her what she'd been reading.

"Oh, that?" She paused, "I don't think you'd be interested - it's just something I picked up to pass the time."

She made a face, and for once, Nott was sure there was something she wasn't saying.

Calculating his options, he carefully slid the book out from under her hands to take a look. On the cover was a damsel in chains and a masked man approaching. He raised an eyebrow.

"It's not the kind of thing I read every day! I was just a bit curious, that's all."

Nott looked at her carefully, not saying anything. Then the food arrived.

The croissants were delightful, even more so since they were shared. They talked about nothing for a while and tasted different kinds of tea. At dusk, Nott offered to walk her home.

Blushing, Clare admitted she'd like that. 

After a moment, Clare broached a subject that had been bothering her for a while. "You know some of my secrets, but I don't even know your name."

"I didn't introduce myself? Sorry. I had the 3rd degree from your uncle before I caught up to you. It's Nott. Theodore Nott."

Clare made an 'O' of surprise with her mouth, clearly thinking something but not saying it.

"What did you hear about my family?" He asked, suspiciously. Doubtless, much of it was true, but he wanted to know first hand what she'd heard.

"Just that your father was a death eater." She said, nervously. She started to pull her hand from his.

Gripping harder, he looked her in the eye, and said lowly but clearly. "I'm not. I'm different. I'm my own man."

She relaxed and took a breath.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed."

"Most people do. I just wanted you to know, before..."

"Before?"

"Before I fall in love with you."


	9. Falling

He couldn't believe he'd said that. It was too soon. It was far too soon to say that kind of thing, and he needed to regain control. Above all things, he needed control. It wasn't like he could take it back, though, so he let silence fall as they held hands on her doorstep just before nightfall.

After a moment, Clare gathered her courage and kissed him lightly on the lips. Nott wanted more, and he deepened the kiss. When they broke apart, Clare looked at him in surprise. She'd never kissed like that.

"I just met you, you know." She said, softly.

"I know. I just can't help myself." Nott could think of nothing else to say.

"I don't mind. I'm just a bit confused. You could have any witch who'd have you. Why are you interested in me? There's no magic in me."

Nott didn't answer at first, and then when he did speak, it seemed like the subject had changed. Finally, he said, "I could show you more than you'd get from that book, you know."

Clare blushed, thinking about what she'd been reading.

"I know a lot more about that stuff than I let on. My surname didn't come from nowhere - my whole family's full of seamen - I didn't mean that how it sounded. I mean I'm good with knots!"

Blushing furiously, Nott ran out into the street. He'd never been so embarrassed in his life. Never had he revealed so much in one short conversation, and never had he been so lost for words. He didn't even wait to see her reaction. He knew he'd blown it, but damn, he still wanted her. Her seeming innocence was driving him wild. Not like Pansy. Not like Vane.

When he got to a wizarding section of town, he apparated home.


	10. Experiments and Potions

When Nott got home, he decided he needed desperate measures. He went down to his basement potions lab to brew. He always liked to brew while he was brooding. It helped calm him down if he could do something concrete to solve a problem.

In this case, the problem was Clare. He’d never imagined he’d fall for a squib, and fall so hard so fast. It made so much sense in hindsight, though. Because she already knew about magic, he wouldn’t be breaking magical laws using magic on her and letting her know it. And she would be completely helpless to his whims. The thought gave him a thrill.

He decided that what he needed first was amortentia. The way things were going, he wasn’t sure she would return his feelings without an extra push, and he wanted her amenable to whatever plans he might cook up. If she could be made as obsessed with him as he was with her, his plans could move forward. After all, from what she was reading, she did seem to want to experiment. The goal would be to get her to drop her inhibitions.

When he finished, he put the amortentia in a box of chocolates and some wine. She might turn down one item, but he hoped she wouldn’t turn down the other. If she did, he might have to use other means of persuasion. In his mind, he went over the imperius curse. It was the only spell his father had taught him that he might actually use, but that was only if she wasn’t compliant. He’d much rather make sure she complied by other means.

He walked to her door in the rain the next night, hoping the horrible weather would entice her to invite him in. He knew he could use a drying spell once he got there, and the rain would be worth it if it gave him a reason to come inside despite his earlier blunders. He was right. When she answered the door, Clare immediately ushered him inside and out of the rain. Once indoors, Nott cast a drying spell on himself and the rug he’d been dripping on.

“Thanks. I rather like that rug, and it’s difficult to wash.”

“Thanks for inviting me in.”

“No problem, it’s a storm out there.”

There was an awkward silence for a moment, and then he said, “I have gifts,” bringing out the chocolates and the wine.

“Oh! Chocolate!” She immediately went for them, then stepped back, embarrassed and flushed. She looked so innocent that way, he just wanted to keep her like that forever.

“Thank you,” she said, abashed. “I love chocolate. I don’t drink wine, though. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, really. It won’t go to waste.”

“Good. I’d hate to seem ungrateful.”

“Trust me. You don’t. I’m glad you like the chocolates. Want to break into them?”

“I haven’t eaten supper yet.” She frowned, then smiled, “Do you like pasta? I can make spaghetti.”

“That sounds fantastic.” Nott nodded, finally at ease.

One supper and a half a box of chocolates later, she was all over him, a half-watched movie forgotten. To her, he smelled like leather and new books and fresh baked brownies, and she couldn’t get enough of him. They started making out on the sofa, and it was only a few minutes before he realized it was time for stage 2 of his plan. 

Holding her left wrist up on the left side of the couch, he silently applied a sticking charm. She hadn’t noticed yet, and they were still kissing. Grabbing her right wrist, he did the same on the right side of the couch, and now she definitely noticed that she couldn’t move her wrists.

“What are you doing?!” She asked, but her face was very flushed and she seemed very into it. 

“Just experimenting.” He said, sounding more clam than he felt. His heart was thumping in his chest, and she was finally at his mercy, at least for the moment.

She opened her mouth again to speak, but he cast a quick, “silencio” and she fell silent, though her mouth still moved.

“At some point I may get you a gag, but that’ll do for now. You are mine.” He said, grabbing her chin and kissing her more roughly than before. 

If she’d been blushing before, it was nothing compared to now. He was reaching under her skirt and running his finger along the line of her crotch, softly, and unbearably slowly. She squirmed, and he suddenly stopped, pulling out his wand. Pointing it so that it was in almost direct contact with her clit, he simply said, “vibrato.”

Clare felt her entire pussy vibrating at speed, as if she were using a sex toy. But there was no toy in contact with her; it was just her vibrating and getting very turned on. She tried to moan, but no sound came out, and Nott had eyes only for her writhing body. When she tried to close her legs, he applied seperate sticking charms to her shoes to keep them apart. They were as effective as the ones on her wrists, and she could do nothing to free herself.


End file.
